


Swept Away

by Batwynn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Embedded Images, Graphic Description, Illnesses, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Zombie Apocalypse, inaccurate medical science, missing person, not Stiles or Derek, slow burn sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batwynn/pseuds/Batwynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa once said it was like a dam bursting, one second it’s just a crack, a small leak—the next, you’re under a million gallons of water. A pandemic that starts small, and spreads fast. </p><p>Stiles remembers that conversation a year later, when the dam breaks. </p><p>Everyone calls it Day One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swept Away

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea. None.

 

                              

 

* * *

 

    Melissa once said it was like a dam bursting, one second it's just a crack, a small leak—the next, you're under a million gallons of water. At the time of this conversation, she’d been making pigs-in-a-blanket to prove some point about frozen food vs homemade food when the topic somehow changed from economics to pandemics. She was so knowledgable about them—and the details, while fascinating, were seriously gross—that Scott was starting to look a little terrified. To lighten the mood, Stiles made a terrible joke about love being like a dam breaking, which kind of made Melissa go quiet and Scott give him the _You're Going the Wrong Way_ look. Stiles quickly changed the subject to chicken pox, and the mental-image of a gigantic wall of pink (because love is pink, whatever) water coming towards him was lost in the chatter. 

 

A year later, the dam broke. 

 

Not the love dam, the pandemic dam.

 

                                                                          

To this day, Stiles is _still_ surprised he didn't die in the first waves of infection, considering his shitty luck. The unnamed infection that the CDC kept under wraps, and left everyone confused as to where half the town had gone in the space of a week. Oh, but then those infected people died, and did they tell anyone then? No, they did not. Which is why everyone left was going about their business as mostly-usual when some serious shit was going down.

 

Because those mass graves the dead were supposed to stay in? Or the containment tents set up on the outskirts of town, those ones that were supposed to keep the infection ‘contained’? The same ones Derek, Detectivewolf, smelled on his patrol of the preserve, and went to investigate two hours before he found Stiles and Scott on the roof of the library. 

 

Yeah, those things didn’t _work_.

 

Because no one expected the dead to get up and take a tour of Beacon Hills.  

 

* * *

 

 

Panic, apparently, starts the same way as an epidemic. There were screams coming from the gymnasium first, which isn't _too_ uncommon with Coach Finstock running the show. And then there was probably that first trickle of fear when those in the classrooms closer to the gym started to hear other sounds—wet, chewing sounds. After that, all it took was one bloodied, screaming cheerleader to come running down the hall and it was the match to the powder keg.

 

Stiles wasn't near the gymnasium, but he remembers Scott gagging and saying something about a _smell_ , and he's pretty sure he grabbed his lacrosse stick while Scott popped some claw. The rest is sort of a blur that he doesn't really _want_ to remember. Some things are just meant to be forgotten. 

 

Even a year later, when people try to do the sharing thing and ask what he was doing when _It_ happened, he shrugs it off. Because it was horrible, the same horrible for everyone.

 

Everyone calls it Day One. 

 

                                                                   

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lydia disappears three horrible months later.

 

 

 The Month of Canned Corn, they call it. Because while Derek and Scott keep holding out for a decent hunt in the woods, Stiles keeps trying to get his dad to convince them that there's something _wrong_ with some of the animals that's just not going away. They deny it, saying they can’t smell anything wrong, but Stiles saw the last cougar they were forced to kill. That is not a normal level of violence, from the cougar _or_ the werewolves. 

 

So, canned corn. They have a ton of it after their last raid to the smaller grocery store on the edge of town. For some reason, that's pretty much all that was left in there other than some cleaning products and Minion toys. 

 

"What kind of asshole steals everything else, and leaves canned corn?" Stiles asks, pulling out the tenth and final can from his backpack. Lydia snorts, but doesn’t comment. After all, they had been the ones to steal almost all the canned ham during that first month. But, well, they kind of had an excuse. Werewolves, meat, all that. 

 

Derek suggests, "Someone who knows it'll be hell on our digestion?" 

 

"You mean _my_ digestion. Even my dad's gut handles corn better then mine, and you and Scott can just wolf-digest it like a pair of goats." 

 

Derek makes a face at him as he unzips his own bag, "if you really believe in 'wolf-digestion', you wouldn't have stopped Scott from eating that deer the other day."

 

"I'm telling you, something's off about them," Stiles says with a scowl. Derek just shrugs, and starts unpacking his bag, too. 

 

He has at least five cans of corn of his own, as well as a tin of sardines he managed to find tucked behind a few small cans of cat food. Stiles wonders if he’ll share it with them tonight, or stash it away for when things get worse than canned corn. 

 

They celebrate the successful raid by quietly clanking their corn cans together, and telling stories about back in the day, when their only problems were ancient demon foxes, lizard boyfriends, and crazy alphas. It's in light spirits, and Lydia laughs, even though they know she hasn't heard from Jackson since before Day One. She says she's fine, though, and goes to sleep with everyone else while Scott stays up to be lookout. She’s two sleeping bags away from Stiles when he closes his eyes, and when he wakes up, she's gone. 

 

Scott never saw or heard her leave.

 

There’s little to no scent trail to follow, so they do the logical thing and go into town to try to find her. Logical, maybe, but _bad_. The streets are clogged with cars still, since the first wave of panic sent everyone to their homes to grab what's important and drive off into the sunset. Only, no one got very far, and all it took was one infected walker and a bunch of people trapped in the streets to spread the infection half way across town. 

 

By the time they make it past the largest congestion of cars and hit the center of town, they've already got three dead dudes on their trail. Derek smells them long before Scott spots them coming down the street, each of the wolfing-out as they grow more alert. But they're fine, they've got plenty of time to reach the station parking lot before they catch up, and from there, they can hide behind the fence while the werewolves take care of them quietly. 

 

They’re just passing the town hall when there’s a loud groaning sound, and a crack before a swarm breaks through whatever barrier someone had once set up on the main doors to keep them locked inside. Stiles goes down under a wave of stinking flesh, mindless clawing and grabbing hands trying to get a good grip on their first meal in God knows how long.

 

“Stiles!” 

 

He has no idea who’s calling, and he thinks he yells something about running away, and definitely something about leaving him behind. Because there’s no way out of this mess, as far as he can see. 

 

For a second, he swears he sees Lydia's brown, leather boots in the mess of rotting legs around him, but the moment's gone when Derek yanks him free and charges out of there at super-werewolf speeds. 

 

They make it back to camp, check each other over for bites, and fall silent. 

 

It's canned corn for dinner that night, too. But no one clinks their cans together in celebration. 

 

                                         

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles has been watching carefully every time an animal crosses their path, and besides Derek, he seems to be the only one concerned about the evil side-eye the squirrels have been giving them. Derek, at least, tells him to stay away from them. 

 

So Stiles watches the squirrels, the birds, the stray cat that twitched its way across the road towards them on their last raid, or the dog his dad had to shoot the time before because, 'It was _rabid_ , Stiles, not infected.' 

 

He watches, and wonders, and worries. Well, between all the starving and fighting that take up most of his time. Because this is Cat Food Month, and while _Turkey Shreds with Cheese_ is _delicious_ and great for his coat, they're not the only ones getting belly aches from hunger. Apparently, dead people can get hungrier, and angrier, or something. Because they keep diligently tracking the pack down and attacking every chance they get, which means very little sleep all around. 

 

Very little sleep + very little food = very little energy. 

 

Which is probably why his dad stumbles while they make a run for a new home base. And probably why he doesn't get up right away. 

 

And also why it takes Stiles forever to turn around—he's too weak and exhausted and—his dad is _right_ there, he can see the exact moment fear turn into resignation in his dad's eyes. All he has to do is reach out and—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Stiles names the next month: Move Month. 

 

No joke, it's just literally the month they move. Out of Beacon Hills.

 

Because it's overrun with dead at this point, and someone—Stiles thinks he recalls Derek saying something—someone decided that they would starve. And the fact that both Stiles and Scott are felling apart a little more each time they see someone they know was unhealthy or some bullshit like that. 

 

Knew. Someone they _knew_.

 

They make it to a gas station give miles outside of Beacon Hills, and set up shop there for a while. The station comes with a small store, mostly untouched by raiders or the dead, and easily secured thanks to some very tiny window and a metal garage door. It's almost safe, as safe as anything can be when the rug's been pulled from under you. 

 

Stiles doesn't talk about the past anymore, and no one seems to have any issue with that. They do find Chris and Isaac five days into their stay, though, which is pretty amazing. Apparently, they'd been on their way back when the infection hit, and had continued pushing towards Beacon Hills ever since. 

 

"Is it just you three?" Chris asks, looking around like he dares to hope there's more people hiding behind Derek. 

 

Scott answers for them, because he's the one who's managed to keep mostly sane, "it's just... us. There's no one left in Beacon Hills." 

 

Isaac makes this sound, that's full of so much pain and _understanding_ that it manages to drag Stiles out of his haze for a few minutes. Long enough to remember that Isaac lived with Scott and his mom for a while, right after that shit with his dad and Derek and... Yeah, he knows why Isaac's hugging Scott so hard. Everyone loved Melissa. 

 

He also knows why he's getting that look from Chris, the one screaming, ' _I know,_ ' and ' _I'm sorry_ '. 

 

Stiles goes back into his haze, and doesn't come back out again until Move Month is over. 

 

                                                         

 

* * *

 

 

They hear about the Safe Haven, so Stiles sarcastically renames October: Euphoria Month.

 

October is anything but euphoric. It starts getting cold, colder than Stiles is used to, and they haven't come across anyone living for weeks now. There's a lot of dead animals, though, which Stiles almost rubs in the werewolves' faces because he _knew_ they were infected, but the point is sort of lost now. 

 

Chris and Isaac make good additions to their rag-tag pack, though. Their raids as they move North are more bountiful, and where Chris is, lots of guns and ammo follow. 

 

So, maybe Euphoria Month isn't too bad. Except for Scott's ever building hope about the Safe Haven somewhere in Oregon. 

 

"The signal is strong, and the last date they recorded was in the end of June." 

 

"Month of Carcasses," Stiles corrects. 

 

Scott wrinkles his nose, "i'm _still_ not calling it that." 

 

"Dude, my name game is strong."

 

Scott just rolls his eyes, and turns back to Isaac, who looks pinned, with a fake, reassuring smile ready for Scott. 

 

Stiles leans back into Derek while Scott explains, for the tenth time, why the Safe Haven is safe and haveny. Derek doesn't complain—hasn't complained once—about Stiles snuggling into him. Stiles is still human, or as human as one can be these days, and not above using the local werewolf population as space heaters. Well, mostly Derek. He feels stupidly safe with Derek. 

 

"—and the woman said they have food." 

 

"Scott," Chris interrupts, as kind and oddly patient as ever. "That was months ago. Anything could have happen between then and now." 

 

Scott does not let this douse his hopes, and Stiles privately thinks he should let it go. But, okay, whatever keeps Scott warm at night. They need his hope, because Stiles is pretty sure no one else in the group has any left. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

                                                                     

 

* * *

 

 

 

November never gets named, because Stiles finally gets sick.

 

Scott medium-loses his shit the second Stiles wakes up in the back of the crappy fake-wood paneled car they snagged, and throws up the can of soup he ate last night. He has a vague impression of hands finding guns, which makes him giggle deliriously for a moment before he throws up again. 

 

"Whassgoin'... on?" He chokes out, slowly raising his head to meet four fearful gazes. He feels shitty, like super shitty, but it's not the sort of crazy he thinks the infection feels like. Not that he would know. "Oh god, shoot me before I change."

 

He hears someone shuffle, and Derek says, "No one's shooting you, Stiles."  

 

"I'll see my dad."

 

"There's something wrong, look at his face, his eyes—" Chris is saying, and Stiles giggles some more before he starts getting scared again. 

 

He squints at the others from the back, frowning at their blurry faces, "Dad? Wheeeress... Dad? Dad?!" 

 

"Stiles..." 

 

"Whereish he?!" Stiles screeches, scrambling towards them through his own puddle of vomit. He's totally gross right now, and probably a bit terrifying to the four gun-toting friends of his, but he can't find his... He can't... 

 

Remember what his dad's voice sounds like anymore. Or what pancakes taste like, or if he brushed his teeth the last night he _could_ brush his teeth like a normal person, or if he locked the front door. Did he lock the front door? People will steal his mother's heirloom plates. 

 

He might be saying some of this out loud, and crying, and wobbling towards the middle row of seats. 

 

The last thing he remembers is Derek reaching towards him and Scott yelling, " _Don't_!" 

 

* * *

 

 

Someone's screaming, it's enough to drag him out of the darkness for a minute. 

 

Stiles is 65% sure it's not him, and lets the dark pull him back under. 

 

 

* * *

 

                                                

 

Lavender. Stiles smells lavender. 

 

His mother loved the smell, and used to wear a lavender perfume that came in a purple glass bottle. 

 

He dad couldn't stand the smell after she died. Said something gruff and quiet about maybe bringing some lavender flowers to her grave, for Stiles' sake. 

 

In his confused state, Stiles tries to ask his dad what smell he should bring to his grave. 

 

* * *

 

                                               

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up warm, and oddly comfortable for the first time since the dam broke. 

 

The first thing he notices is the really nice blanket that's almost covering his face in a super annoying way, and maybe also the arm tucked against his stomach. Both things take a really long time to sink in, so stiles just lets the thoughts slug their way into full consciousness on their own time.

 

"You're awake," comes in a warm breath against his neck, and the blanket shifts away from his face enough to breathe. 

 

It's Derek, of course it's Derek. Stiles smiles a little, and it's enough to make his cheeks ache. 

 

"Mm'spose so?" 

 

"I didn't know... If you would." 

"Would what?"

 

"... Wake up." 

 

And his voice is so small, Stiles wonders if he was meant to hear it at all, or if Derek even notices the way his grip on Stiles tightens.  

 

Clearing his throat, Stiles asks, "What happened?"

 

"You... Scott thought you got infected and—"

 

"You guys c-checked me for bites on our last raid." 

 

"I know," Derek sighs, "but he was convicted you caught it like the first wave of people did. He almost... He almost bit you." 

 

Stiles twitches, and tries to turn his head as far as it can go to look Derek in the eye. It doesn't work, though, and his neck feels like someone jammed a metal rod through it. Actually, know that he's thinking about it, everything feels incredibly stiff. How long has it been, anyway? 

 

"We don't even know if that works —is—I don't... What's going on? I can't move." Stiles starts to panic, and he's trying and trying to get his fingers to move, wheezing and probably sounding super pathetic. But the most he can do is jerk his head to the side an inch. "Derek!? What the fuck is—"

 

"Botulism." 

 

Stiles' breath hitches. It hitches again when he realizes that's probably why his chest feels so tight—outside of the obvious effects of an anxiety attack—and he vaguely remembers reading something about paralysis and botulism poisoning, but he also doesn't recall how or why. Oh god, this might be permanent. They obviously don't have the antitoxin out in the middle of no-where... Stiles blinks. 

 

And blinks again. 

 

"Where are we?" He asks, staring ahead at what looks like a mural of a unicorn attacking what looks like mounds of rainbow ice-cream and Care-Bears. "Never mind, I know. We're in hell." 

 

Derek finds that amusing for some reason, and shifts until he's sort of hunched over Stiles. He gives him the usual bemused look, lots of raised eyebrows and a tiny smile, before he lifts Stiles up in his arms like a doll. That's just not cool, but he can't really complain because now he can see where they are. 

 

"It's a dentist office," Derek offers, gently tucking Stiles against his chest and wrapping his arms back around him. "We're one town away from the Sanctuary." 

 

"It's real?"

 

"Hell, or the Sanctuary?"

 

"We both know Hell is real," Stiles murmurs, wishing he could smack Derek's arm for being a Dorkwolf. Why was he even here? Other than to maneuver Stiles' useless body around, anyway.

 

"The Sanctuary is real, I guess," Derek replies, sounding like his usual grumpy self. "I haven't seen it yet." 

 

"Why not?" Wouldn't that be the first thing everyone would do once they found out it was real? Food? Possibly a shower? 

 

"Because I wanted to stay with you."

 

Stiles stares at the hideous wall art—if you can call it that. Seriously, it's vomitile—and tries his best to process everything he's hearing. It takes him a while, but with Derek's help, he's caught up with current events pretty quickly. 

 

Apparently, after lots of vomiting and passing out, they figured out that it was probably something not-zombie related, and drove north as quickly as possible. Scott had basically made the point that they would either die here, Stiles first, or die trying to find a place that might potentially cure Stiles. Go figure, they didn't cure Stiles, because no one has the antitoxin and they wouldn't even let Stiles enter the Sanctuary, anyway. So, they found a relatively safe area in the next town over—'It's called Sweet Home? _Really_?'—and tried to find an alternative way to fix Stiles. The solution took form of a medical book from Scott's own, small collection, and a mad hunt for a dentist's office that might have some heavy-duty antibiotics. 

 

Apparently it helped. Actually, it was mostly all the vomiting he did in the beginning, according to Scott’s book. There were other things they apparently needed to get him back to 100%, like something to help him breathe for a while. Derek had blushed, and refused to elaborate further on that subject. But, whatever happened happened, and they set up camp in this hideous dentist office while Scott and everyone else went on patrols or visited the Sanctuary. 

 

And for now, that's fine. Stiles doesn't need to see this safe haven place just yet, anyway. He has somewhere out of the winter chill to sleep, and a giant Softiewolf to protect him. 

 

* * *

 

The day Stiles and Derek finally join everyone in the Haveny Haven, Scott springs a surprise on him that sets his breathing problems back six years. 

 

The surprise comes in the shape of Lydia having been at the Sanctuary for months after getting separated from them. Something about banshees and being connected to the dead, yada yada, and she ended up here. 

 

He bawls for a good hour, but Lydia just holds him, and maybe cries a little too.

 

It's probably the best day he's had since Day One. 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles names December: D-Day. 

 

It's sort of a double entendre, or triple entendre. Because they're officially liberated from the rustic style of living off cat food and fighting for their lives thanks to the Sanctuary, Derek's birthday happens the same day as Christmas—'D-Day B-Day, dude'—and Stiles is finally limber enough to give Derek a present that involves a lot of dick-on-dick action. 

 

He thinks it's hilarious.

 

Everyone else refuses to call it that. 

 

* * *

 

93 Days later, they set out into the woods as a pack. Scott, Lydia, and Issac forge ahead, while Chris skirts the edges of their group, on constant alert. Stiles and Derek take up the rear, and that's fine. He still moves slower than he used to, but it's getting better every day, and Derek is always there for him. Which, honestly, can get seriously annoying—like there's no escaping the Smotherwolf. But 90% of the time, Stiles actually appreciates it. 

 

Because these guys, this pack of his, is all he has left from his life before, and he honestly couldn't ask for anything more. 

 

Well, he might silently wish for one more thing, one more person. And maybe there's a mark on his haphazard calendar system to set aside a certain day for those wishes. But that's another reason they're heading into the woods today. 

 

When they find a clearing, Chris and Scott do one more sweep of the woods before setting their packs down and building a small fire. Stiles provides his usual commentary as they set up, Derek and the rest chiming in to exchange light hearted banter. 

 

They fall silent when Lydia takes out the first item. 

 

It’s an earring, a perfectly average gold, and what looks like a pearl, earring. Lydia doesn’t go into a lot of detail about why this is the object she chose for their ceremony, but Styles has a feeling it’s literally all she has left of her mother. She doesn’t have anything for Jackson, so she shares a small, private story about him in its place. 

 

Chris looks uncomfortable when he pulls out the silver pendant that everyone recognizes right away. When he took it, and how he’s kept it on him is his secret to keep, but he looks around the circle and meets everyone’s eyes with the same intense sorrow as the day he had to stand there, and order everyone to lie about how his daughter died. 

 

“I’m thankful she died fighting to protect the people she cared about,” is all he says.

 

 

Issac goes next, and his hands are empty. 

 

He looks down at them, and says, “The pack is all i’ve ever really had to call my own, and I don’t have anything left from Boyd or Erica… but i’ve got you guys and Allison is—was…” 

 

Stiles winces, and even though it it was years ago, he can still feel the scream of Allison’s name in his ears, and the disgusting pleasure in his gut from the Nogitsune. That’s two reminders of people who didn’t even make it to Day One, and Stiles wonders if he should feel quietly for being thankful that they didn’t survive to become zombies. Somehow, that just feels worse. 

  
Stiles notices Scotts refuel smile as pulls Isaac in for an one-armed hug. He keeps him there while he reaches into his bag and tugs one of the medical texts he’s been lugging around since they left Beacon Hills, and a hair tie. For some reason, it’s the hair tie that really hits Stiles where it hurts. It’s just a tool, something you throw away when it gets too stretched out and, jesus, it’s too small and stupid to have so much meaning but Stiles _gets_ it. Especially when Scott talks about how his mom always put her hair up before her shift, and how she used to complain about the metal bit ripping out her hair. Scott chokes on a wet sounding laugh, and shakes his head. 

 

“I always meant to… to get her those ones that don’t pull, you know? They didn’t even cost a lot… I just never did.” 

 

Stiles leans over to pat his shoulder. “You would have, man. If we ever had the time and money, we would have bought them everything.” 

 

And there’s that sad smile again. Stiles should probably go before he can’t anymore. 

 

“I guess i’m next,” he mutters, getting his own hug from Derek. His big, warm wall of support. Stiles wonders, for a moment, if Derek knows just what he is to him. 

 

Then he reaches into his own bag, and pulls out a gun. 

 

“I was… I carried his boots for a while after, and he had a couple of things from our house when we left, but—yeah, lost em,” he chokes out a bitter laugh, weighing the gun in his hand. He’d rather have his dad’s badge, or the tiny ceramic egg his mother painted years ago, that the sheriff grabbed from the bookcase on their way out, or, hell, he’d take the boots even. A gun is just… so impersonal, and even if it did belong to his dad, he’s not even sure if it’s his original gun or one he grabbed during their first raid. It’s a weapon, it’s a symbol for what he was—for some of what he was. 

 

“I don’t know if this the gun he was issued when he became sheriff, but I guess it doesn’t matter in the end. This is what iv’e got other than memories, and… it’s good enough. It’s good enough.” 

 

There’s a long pause that makes Stiles antsy and ready to run, because he probably said something wrong and now everyone’s mourning moment is ruined and—

 

“I don’t have anything like that.”

 

Stiles twitches and tilts his head to look at the man who’s still pressed into his back, arms wrapped around Stiles’ middle. Derek catches his eye, and gives him a tiny, secret smile that’s way too sad to for him to handle. 

 

“I didn’t have anything when Laura and I left for New York, either,” he continues, looking out at the group now. “The fire burned through most of it, and anything that was left smelled like… smelled too much like burnt… _family_.” 

 

Scott makes this horrible sad noise in the back of his throat, but Derek keeps going, “And, like Issac said, I don’t have anything from Boyd and Erica, or Peter, or Laura, or… or Cora.” Stiles reaches up and hugs Derek’s arms around himself without saying a word. He knows Cora is a fresh wound for him. She’d gone back to visit the family that had taken care of her for most of her life—just a short visit because Derek wanted to get her college applications in before fall—and then, Day One happened. Derek had originally protested leaving Beacon Hills, just in case she came back. Just in case she got a message out and somehow, someone delivered it. But after his dad died, and the food was completly gone, Derek had given up. Stiles had known that he’d given up months before then, but this is the first time he’s ever said anything like this out loud. 

 

Derek’s arms tighten around him suddenly, “I guess i’m following Isaac’s lead tonight, but this is what i’ve got. You, my pack.” Stiles can hear the smile in his voice when he adds, “That’s all I need.” 

 

“This is all we need,” Scott repeats, one hand curled around the hair tie, the other arm still wrapped around Issac. Lydia leans into them both, her eyes bright in the firelight, and Chris remains present, but to the side, as always. 

 

The ones who have them, put their items away again, conversation starting up again as thought nothing happened. There’s a comfortable warmth that sweeps over them, made more transparent by what just past and years of sticking together through hell and back again. It’s their normal, the only kind of normal they can get, and it’s _good_. 

 

Stiles raises his can of corn in toast, first as a joke, but also for the pack, for the memories, for the dead.

 

For making it to Day Two.

 

                                              

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Note: I did my research into Botulism, and I know that the antibiotics are used for wound-Botulism, not so much for ingested-Botulism. So, I kind of... neeehh.. fudged it a bit. A dental office would have the type of antibiotics that is often used for it, though, so that worked. 
> 
> Other than that, it's just a bunch of nonsense. I have no idea how the CDC and pandemic control works. I've been watching too much 12 Monkeys or something.


End file.
